Eternity in an Hour
by Erantha
Summary: It's a Luby (cause they're fun to write!), an AU fic set somewhere around Orion in the Sky.
1. The Beginning of Eternity

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to play with them!! Please read and review!!  
  
The night was cold - she felt the bitter air numb her skin, but she could not bring herself to care enough to even seek shelter. Not yet.  
  
Wind tore at her coat, blowing it back from her shoulders; she looked up briefly, sniffing at the pale night sky as she debated fastening the buttons, noting dim stars obscured by the glare of the Chicago skyline.  
  
Vague recollections of bright, shimmering stars stirred in shadowy corners of her memory, but belonged to a time long past. A time before her life had gone so horribly awry.  
  
When was the last time she had really been in control? She liked to think the majority of the last five years, since she sobered up and left Richard. But that was not necessarily true - no addict could ever really possess unhindered control again; some measure of power always belonged to the disease, the constant temptation. The temptation she had given into.  
  
The reasons were as mysterious to her as they must have been to Carter. She had seen the disappointed look in his eyes, the contempt for her wasted five years and feeble effort at being his sponsor.  
  
The little drink that marked the beginning, on her birthday, with Joyce, was the most anticlimactic fall she could have envisioned. But Joyce was a new person, someone who was not familiar with the weak and vulnerable Abby, so clearly discernible in her alcoholism.  
  
To this new woman, Abby could invent herself as the stronger, more independent person she hoped she could be.  
  
And even now, here she was walking toward Luka's apartment. She let him take her in because she could not bear staying in her own home. So much for her idealized strength.  
  
She needed a drink. Somehow her thoughts always seemed to cycle back to a form of blame and a need for escape. Very common in alcoholics and her own mind, she knew, but the pure repetition of it never ceased to astound her. In many respects, it was similar to the pattern she shared with her mother: the cycle was not apparent until it was over, but, upon inspection, it was invariably precise.  
  
She shouldn't go back there again. She should go to a bar and get bombed; she should go to a meeting; she should return to her own apartment. Abby was just pacing in front of the building now, as her mind fought its battle.  
  
Vainly, she tried to rationalize her discomfort in staying with Luka any longer. She knew the truth, though - that when he had checked her eye that fateful morning she had felt a wave of emotion like no other, and that terrified her.  
  
Her right to feel such things about Luka had long since passed, and now they were interfering with her life. They had to be put away. with a drink. No! She shook her head again, staring at the door to the building as though it was a demon she must defeat. Should she stay or should she go?  
  
******  
  
  
  
Luka felt the knot of dread in his stomach before he consciously realized what it was. It must have woken him; there was no other reason to blink at the blaring red letters of his alarm clock, four hours before they were supposed to sound.  
  
His eyes scanned the room, searching for something out of place, even as his ears strained for the remnant of a noise that might have disturbed him. Suddenly, he knew - he had not heard Abby come in.  
  
She never made a lot of noise, and rarely woke him, but somewhere in his mind there was always a confirmation of her secure presence that this night lacked somehow. Two-thirty.  
  
She had been scheduled until twelve, and should have been back by then. He momentarily chastised himself - she was a grown woman, after all - but eventually conceded to his need to verify her safety.  
  
He flinched a bit as the soles of his feet touched the icy floor, then padded lightly down the hall and into the living room.  
  
Eyes fully adjusted, he was able to pick out the lack of expected detail: Abby's shoes were not by the door; her coat was not on the peg; her purse was missing from the table.  
  
The feeling of nervous anticipation grew as each step took him closer to the couch. He found himself willing her to be on the other side, just out of his line of sight.  
  
Luka let out a deep breath as his wish was granted. Abby lay curled on the couch, pressed tightly against the back cushion. Moonlight bathed her fully clothed form as his eyes took her in; she looked. fragile, somehow.  
  
Clouds shifted in the night sky outside Luka's window, adjusting the rays of pale light to Abby's face. Previously obscured tearstains became suddenly pronounced in the new light, a fresh addition forming in the corner of one eye. Kneeling before her, he reached out a slightly trembling hand to brush away the tear - as though months of pent-up tenderness and concern manifested itself in that one gentle gesture.  
  
Her eyes flew open as his fingers made contact with her cool skin. His expression became more concerned as he realized just how cold she was.  
  
  
  
Their eyes each searched the other's, not knowing exactly what they were looking for. Luka's thumb caressed her cheek as her eyes seemed to fluctuate between resignedness and fire. "I didn't mean to wake you," Abby finally whispered, her need to break the silence overwhelming.  
  
"You didn't," he murmured, still searching for what he could not find. She opened her mouth again to say more, but hesitated as Luka shook his head. "Shhh," he hushed her gently as he slid his free arm under hear head and swept her up, cradling her like a child.  
  
She tried so hard to act strong; it was this front of invulnerability that had so divided them in their romantic relationship. In the beginning, when he had needed someone, she had been there and was comfortable in her position of control. Later, though, when her emotional world came crashing down, she pushed him away rather than show any weakness. This display of frailty now cut him like a knife. For Abby to allow this visibility of her emotions was more than she had done through their whole relationship.  
  
Part of her screamed to fight him, to lie back down and be alone, but that half of her mind was exhausted. Instead, Abby gave into the lonely, vulnerable part of her that was finding some comfort in Luka's embrace, however temporary it would be. She did not say more, just relaxed into his comforting grasp and was soon fast asleep.  
  
Luka reveled in the feel of her, as she rested in his arms; she was his in this moment, his in a way she could never be in waking hours - she fought it too hard. He had always felt their most intimate moments were those she did not even realize happened, when she was asleep and he would stroke her hair, or whisper to her so tenderly, communicating words that always seemed too trite when her eyes stared back at him.  
  
Now he was whisked back to those days, the days before both of them managed to so irrevocably scar their relationship. It had been a joint effort, total destruction in their wake.  
  
Closing his eyes, he drank in the fragrance of her hair; he soon had to open them, though, blinking back tears rising from the flow of memories that ensued.  
  
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stood, careful not to disturb the sleeping bundle he so lovingly embraced. He laid her on the bed, then drew her close again, fighting the ache in his chest her nearness evoked. "I wish this could help you, Abby," his words were an almost inaudible murmur, lost in the recesses of her chestnut hair, "I wish you would stay."  
  
*****  
  
Abby woke up to a strange sensation of security.  
  
She felt warm, comfortable, safe, and more rested than she had in weeks. Her body was cradled somehow; she shifted a bit, burrowing further into the warmth that cloistered her away from the reality of the previous evening.  
  
Opening her eyes slowly, she froze. Too quickly, she squeezed her eyes shut and her whole body stiffened. Desperately, she tried to make herself relax; she commanded her breathing to even out and slowly relaxed each muscle in her body.  
  
She snuck a glance at her watch - five-fifty. Only a few minutes until Luka would have to get up for his shift. How had this happened? She felt his arm tighten around her waist and tried not to react, deadening her body as though she were still asleep.  
  
She had to get out of there.  
  
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To love is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one... Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements, lock it up safe in the coffin of your selfishness...  
  
C.S. Lewis, "The Problem of Pain" 


	2. You Can Thank Me Later

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to have fun with them!  
  
Luka placed the lounge phone back into its receiver with an audible click, then smiled softly.  
  
He knew he had to be careful not to overplay his hand. But they had really crossed a bridge last night, Abby had opened up to him and breathed new life into the sense of hope Luka had all but abandoned since their romantic falling-out.  
  
The emotional intimacy he had felt the previous evening was more than he had dared even dream could happen when he had delivered his invitation for her to stay with him. The kindness of the offer, though, was but a thin veneer covering his selfish desire to be near to her.  
  
An almost giddy nervousness pervaded the rest of his day as he mentally laid out his evening plans. After checking the nurses' schedule three times, he was sure Abby would be home that night. When he arrived from work, he would play it cool, at least until the flowers arrived at five- thirty. Dinner from her favorite Italian restaurant would be moments behind, and then they could relax to some blues or a movie. He would not push her, but he could not hold back his feelings anymore. Perhaps, if he was lucky, she would even confide in him what had made her so upset that night.  
  
"Dr. Kovac? Dr. Kovac, did you hear me? Luka!" Kerry's voice cut through the thick of his thoughts.  
  
"No, I'm sorry, what?" His distant eyes barely looked at her.  
  
"I asked if you knew when Abby would be back."  
  
"Back? Back from what?" That brought him crashing back into his present surroundings.  
  
"I received a message from personnel this morning - she had a family emergency and would be gone for a few days, they weren't certain about her return." Kerry's eyes lingered on Luka's face, taking in the surprise and hurt. "Wish her my best," she relented slightly, returning her attention a chart.  
  
"Yes, of course," he faltered. Just like that, it was all gone. Fantasies of hope and happiness crumbled around him; but, more than that, he was suddenly overtaken by a heavy shadow of fear - fear for what Abby could be suffering through.  
  
She had been upset the night before, but a family emergency? What could have happened? Had he been too callous with her? Somehow he did not think she wanted to talk - what he had seen in her eyes was hurt and longing. She had just seemed to need him and he had tried to be there as best he could.  
  
Before he realized what he was doing, his cell phone was pressed to his ear, a faint ring emanating from the earpiece; five rings, though, and his own familiar voice greeted him as the answering machine picked up. The cheerful greeting seemed to drag on far too long as he waited impatiently for the beep.  
  
"Abby? Abby, are you there? Pick up the phone. Abby?" By the time he hung up he was already beginning to push the ambulance bay doors open. Trying to calm himself down he shoved his hands deep into his pockets - the terse tone in his own voice surprised him. Upset, yes, but he had barely been able to squeeze out the words; he could not think straight. "Kerry."  
  
The redheaded doctor looked up from her stack of admissions papers, adjusting her glasses. "Go ahead; I'll cover your last hour." Her gravelly voice was music to his ears. Though she could be cold, Luka had always felt there was a deeper understanding between them.  
  
Grateful for whatever degree of compassion she was showing, he hurriedly gave her a half-hearted smile. Without wasting any more time, he raced to his car.  
  
The thing was an eyesore, even to him - who really drove a Viper? It was all a part of the elaborate shield of images he constructed around himself after he stopped seeing Abby.  
  
Wasn't it funny how hard he tried. Perhaps if he had been able to convince himself he had his life together without her, then everyone else would believe it too.  
  
First Nicole, to try and prove he was over Abby; he even tried to show Abby how over her he was by helping Nicole get a job in the E.R. But another woman did not free him of her; she still haunted his thoughts and caught his eye as she flitted in and out of his line of sight. He would catch his eyes following her and chastise himself, then practice again one of his many rehearsed and feeble attempts to try and draw her into a conversation. Before he could act on them, though, Nicole would appear and he was sucked back into the vortex of real life.  
  
After he could not press any further into Nicole's dead end, he added to his bachelor pad - games, movies, and music galore to create the perfect party atmosphere. Perfect for seducing the hordes of women he despised for not being Abby or Danjella.  
  
And what more perfect an item to finish it off than the classic symbol of male sexuality: a muscle car. Too bad all of it meant nothing. It was an empty, false identity. All of his exacting effort, and he wasn't even convincing himself. The only time he had felt real since arriving in the United States was when he was with Abby.  
  
Now he was furious, with his car, with the traffic, but mostly with himself. For the first time, he realized how angry he still was about what had passed between them in September - the awful things he had said, and never taken back. They were so close - he was so close to brushing against happiness again, he could not let her slip away.  
  
Luka pressed the gas petal down with renewed urgency. The quick response of his expensive car, though, was not enough.  
  
By the time he reached his apartment, she was gone. 


	3. 7313

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to play with them!  
  
The next few chapters will be going on at the same time, first what Abby is doing, then Luka, and so on. Let me know what you think! By the way, the 7313 is a real blues club in Chicago - nowhere I would go alone ;)  
  
Wiping away more tears, Abby strengthened her resolve. His voice over the machine had almost made her falter - he sounded so sad.  
  
Hurting him was not what her time away should accomplish. She needed to answer to herself, and think this through alone; Luka would just have to wait.  
  
Lightly tapping a pencil against the kitchen table, she read the note she was leaving one more time. It did not say much, but it would have to do. Extra shirt, jeans, sweater, underwear, pajamas. hairbrush. She completed her mental checklist, deftly threw on her coat, and quietly shut the door.  
  
The click of the latch as the bolt slid into place seemed unnaturally final; the metallic noise echoed through her mind until she was outside the building. Perhaps this was not the best course of action, but she had little choice, in her own mind; dealing with Luka after what had happened last night just was not possible at the moment. She needed time.  
  
Time.  
  
But would a few days really make such a huge impact? Or was she just trying to convince herself that they would because it was the easier to run away than to face him. She loved him. She had realized that truth long ago; but whether or not loving him was practical remained to be answered.  
  
Why did she have to make everything so difficult?  
  
Putting the issues firmly out of her mind, she began down the street: she was not even sure where she was going other than away from Luka, away from a situation she was emotionally involved in.  
  
Her apartment was out of the question, and she certainly did not want to go visit Maggie. Eric was out of the country, and Carter was not someone she could talk to right now. She needed to find a place where she could just reflect for a while.  
  
A sudden thought seemed to strike her as she made an abrupt turn. Joey Hall, a tenor sax player, was doing a show that night. She was lucky to have remembered the date - the last time she had heard him play, Abby had picked up a flyer that detailed all of his appearances until summer. A blues club would suit her mood tonight anyway.  
  
****  
  
This was it.  
  
Abby could not help but crack a smile at what a dive 7313 really was - despite the warning she had received when procuring her directions, she still somehow thought it might be a bit better.  
  
What would Luka think of her being in a neighborhood like this all alone? She could have slapped herself. Why was his name the one she thought of? It's not like her brother, her mother, or even other members of the ER staff would be thrilled about her tempting fate in such a dangerous neighborhood, especially after her recent assault. But no, her mind had to jump immediately to Luka.  
  
Scowling to herself she crossed the street and made for the iron door.  
  
Slipping inside, she bumped into several patrons congregating in the doorway. One sent her a scathing glare, but the others were more tolerant - the whole 'club' was only about the size of her living room, even a few people managed to crowd one another.  
  
Her eyes skimmed over the splintering tables and few chairs, then fell upon the makeshift bar. To even call it a bar was kind; the counter consisted of no more than a long table strewn with bottles, a few coolers stored underneath, and a pile of Dixie Cups on one end.  
  
I wonder if they really have a liquor license, Abby mused as she picked her way across the floor.  
  
Two large men in their forties seemed to be guarding the supply of alcohol, though they did not look like bartenders. "Jack and coke?" she inquired to one, looking hopefully at the bottle of whiskey halfway down the table.  
  
He blinked, and a moment passed. She was close to addressing the bartender number two when her words suddenly seemed to hit him like an epiphany; his eyes flashed and he conferred with the other large man.  
  
Abby's bartender was suddenly darting for the door. Her eyes followed him curiously; she almost burst into peels of laughter as she caught sight of him across the street, digging in his pockets for change to feed the nearby coke machine.  
  
Upon his return, he looked at Abby and shook his head. "They're out of coke."  
  
"It's ok, really," her amusement was evident in her voice. "How about some tequila instead, just serve it straight."  
  
Reaching for a Dixie Cup, he nodded. Without even adding ice to the cup, he dumped about six shots of tequila in, and then pushed it across the table. "Five bucks."  
  
She handed him the money, then picked up her cup and went to find a seat close to the stage. The room seemed crowded, but it was probably just because it was so small.  
  
"You aren't a regular," a loud, deep voice from behind almost made her jump. She turned and faced the speaker, an elderly man nearly hidden in the shadows. "I know all the regulars, and you aren't one of 'em. So what brings you here?" He leaned forward then, revealing just how grizzled his dark skin was. Silver locks of hair contrasted sharply in the dim light, making them his most discernable feature.  
  
"I like the saxophone player," she replied shyly.  
  
"You know Joe? I know Joe. He's all right, you know, but I could do better than that."  
  
"You play?"  
  
"Honey, I ruled the blues scene back in the day. Damn lung cancer, though, all I can do now is listen to these young guys who don't know what came before them." Abby nodded, and kept her gaze attentive as the stranger related a story about his 'worthless guitar player.'  
  
Soon Joe appeared from stage right (which apparently doubled as a bathroom) and the show was underway.  
  
Abby let her mind wander as the soft jazz poured over her, it's slow and saddening rhythm a perfect match for the recent cadence of her life.  
  
In a way, she had wished for this situation. She had not wanted to hurt Luka, and had not expected her love for him to rush back in such excruciating detail, but her psyche had wanted to create a situation in which she could again experience control. Her recent unhappiness was different; Bryan had invaded her home and taken away all of her prized power. If getting it back meant choosing to destroy intimacy with Luka again, then at least it was her decision, and not a whirlwind of circumstance.  
  
Biting her lip, she closed her eyes. Did she even know how to be happy? Luka had accused her of that woeful transgression, and he was not too far off the mark.  
  
But it was not that easy - just admitting she had a problem did not solve half of it. She had no idea how to attempt to fix it; if she was distant from people she was miserable, if she was close to them doubly so. She had tried changing her surroundings two or three times: Minnesota, Pennsylvania, Virginia, or Chicago. Drunk or sober. Married or divorced. Popular or friendless. It was all empty. It was all the same.  
  
A warm, coppery taste filled her mouth. She touched her fingers to her lip, confirming the cut she already knew was there. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, but she forced them back.  
  
Just because being happy was such a battle.. That did not preclude her from ever winning.  
  
Did it?  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "We are born alone. We live alone. We die alone. And anything in between that can give us the illusion we are not, we cling to." Voltaire 


	4. Sleepless Roads

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to have fun with them!!  
  
Like the flow of the tide, Luka could feel everything slipping away. It amazed him just how tangible that sensation was; he could physically feel the distance between them growing larger.  
  
  
  
Her note was so short.  
  
  
  
Desperately, he poured over the words again, hoping to find something that he had missed - some small tidbit that would bring him more comfort, or more insight into where she had gone. He found no help.  
  
  
  
Luka,  
  
I'm sorry to leave on such short notice. I'll talk to you soon.  
  
Abby  
  
  
  
No word on her whereabouts, and no way to contact her. He sifted through what was left of her things on the end table bedside the couch, and was dismayed to find her cell phone - leaving that was just unsafe.  
  
  
  
And her safety was something he prized above all else.  
  
  
  
Those few, tense moments he had waited in the hall while Susan performed the rape exam on Abby had been some of the longest in his life. The relief that washed over him when Susan gave him the results, unparalleled - at least she had been spared something. Had reparations for that traumatic offense been left to him..  
  
  
  
Bryan's face filled his mind, then: his eyes, so full of fear, so eager to appease Luka. Such contempt had filled him when the man ducked him - it was beyond Luka how a man like Bryan could dare call himself such when chose to brutalize someone so small as Abby, or so emotionally weak as his wife.  
  
  
  
Thinking of Joyce, his thoughts leapt to memories of Danjella. Oh, how he had treasured her.  
  
  
  
It was beyond unfair that men like Bryan could hurt their own wives and roam about freely when his wife - who he tried to keep from harm every day of her life - was ultimately taken away.  
  
  
  
A bitter taste filled his mouth as the irony of that thought sank in: he had failed to keep harm from Danjella and his children, just as he had failed to keep harm from Abby. In both cases, those who afflicted such harm had managed to undermine his efforts, and, no matter how much pain Luka inflicted on them, the measures would never be equal.  
  
  
  
Luka was pacing now, nervous anticipation forcing his legs to keep moving through their protests of fatigue.  
  
  
  
His thoughts creeping forward through his timeline, he eventually reached Abby. Those memories, too, flooded back to Luka in exquisite torture. From the first kiss they shared just outside the hospital through their first date and her mother's visit.  
  
  
  
Every mistake he made, every time he had let her down became atrociously evident. Perpetuating the initial distance he erected between them, he rejected her subtle plea for support when her mother arrived.  
  
  
  
He had pushed her away time and again. At least until he met Bishop Stuart; before he died, the Bishop had helped Luka come at least to an understanding with his past. After that, he had been more affectionate, more considerate - but it was too late.  
  
  
  
It was only after she was gone he realized what he had lost, someone who he had undeniably loved. The dull loneliness was similar to what he had felt when he lost Danjella. Abby did not necessarily represent any greater or smaller loss; it was just a different kind of bereavement.  
  
  
  
In some ways, it was easier to know that she was alive and healthy, going on with her life without him; in other ways, it made the reality ten times worse - to know she was so close, and yet their circumstances kept them apart. No longer was his suffering an act of God, but merely the result of human foolishness.  
  
  
  
To think how close they were - and how narrowly they avoided the happiness they could have shared - was torment.  
  
  
  
How could she just run away? Didn't she understand that he wanted to help her, that she could depend on him? She had finally allowed herself to lean on him when she chose to stay..  
  
  
  
Maybe that was the problem.  
  
  
  
Abby had her own savior complex, almost as deeply-ingrained and labyrinthine as his. They had each, at different points, embarked too much upon a quest to save the other, rather than filling more genuinely supporting and understanding capacities.  
  
  
  
Being her friend was something he had focused on this time. Carter had managed to be Abby's friend, but not without paying his own price, Luka supposed. Their relationship seemed to have suffered, of late - they seemed distant at best during their day of sexual harassment education. Before that, he could not remember the last time he had noticed the two of them interact at work. He and Carter had constituted the core of Abby's support structure for the last two years; if she and Carter had been estranged the last few months, she must have been terribly lonely. She and Dr. Lewis seemed to have hit it off, but that was only a recent development.  
  
  
  
Looking around suddenly, he realized he did not know where he was. At some point, he had left his apartment and climbed into his car again, but the streets were now unfamiliar.  
  
  
  
He pulled into a nearby parking lot and peered out the window, searched for a road sign of any kind. Instead, his gaze was met by a neon Bear's helmet and a Miller Lite logo. Through the other window lay a bar with a Blackhawks' sign and a Budweiser banner. A drink, he mused, just might do him good.  
  
  
  
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The pleasure of love lasts but a moment, the pain of love lasts a lifetime.  
  
  
  
Jean Pierre Claris deFlorian 


	5. ThisIsn'tMyRealLifeRed

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to have fun with them!!!  
  
Abby did not leave 7313 until nearly four in the morning. The show was amazing, but she expected no less from a brilliant musician like Joey.  
  
Awareness battled her heavy eyelids as she bounced along on the el, her sleepiness occasionally winning until her head slumped far enough forward to bump the cool metal pole in front of her seat. That metallic touch would bring her upright again, and start the struggle anew.  
  
She was certainly squeezing all she could out of her fare - this particular el ride had lasted almost an hour already. Aimlessly, she rode the line up and down, invisible to the few other passengers who meandered in and out of the car. Four-thirty in the morning and she had nowhere to go. She knew no one to go to.  
  
The train ground slowly to a halt as she came back to herself again. It was definitely time to seek a new venue for her thoughts.  
  
Abby passed out of the train as a ghost passes through a room - nothing more than a cool shadow, unseen by people trying too hard not to see each other. As she descended steep stairs, she lifted her face to the cloudy sky.  
  
Glimmering snowflakes seemed to glow in the moonlight as she took in the still of the yet-dark morning. A wave of awe washed over her, inspiring a sudden moment of contentment.  
  
There was a special sense of power she had always felt in being awake at this time. Awake to enjoy the quiet beauty of new-fallen snow, awake to hear the secret whispers of the morning, before they were lost in the hustle and bustle of man's activity. Getting up before the rest of her family, experiencing a time entirely unto herself was truly beautiful. She had always been moved.  
  
This fascination had been born in her teenage years. From age fifteen to seventeen, she had worked at a small grocery store not far from her house. Abby had even volunteered to take the early shift (from five to one) because it ensured she would be home early enough in the afternoon to make lunch for Eric.  
  
The less he had to depend on Maggie for anything, the better.  
  
Her fingers were stiff. It took the near-creaking of her frigid muscles to make Abby check her surroundings.  
  
Spotting a twenty-four hour Walgreen's on the corner, Abby made for the door. As much as she may have adored this time of day, brutal Chicago weather without gloves necessitated at least a brief stop to get warm.  
  
The automatic door slid open, admitting her to aisles of unnecessary merchandise.  
  
"Hello," a bored-looking cashier greeted as Abby briefly wiped her shoes on the mat. "How are you tonight?"  
  
"I'm good, thanks," Abby smiled and sniffled as she adjusted to the change in temperature.  
  
The first section of items she passed were cheesy novelties, the kind of gifts so tacky she wondered who was ever capable of giving them. Every time she saw a "Billy Bass" she had to roll her eyes.  
  
Though Abby had a difficult time parting with anything she had decided at any point to keep, she was really quite a minimalist. Trinkets and cluttered decorations never appealed to her. That was probably because Maggie had been a pack-rat.  
  
She sighed. There was only so far the excuse of 'having a disease' could really go. On one hand, she knew it was unfair to her mother to be judged for offences committed when she was not in her right mind.  
  
But how could she ever balance the clingy, overly-loving and affectionate mother with the one who screamed at her daughter that she wished Abby had never been born? Or when she called Abby a bitch and ranted about how her birth had destroyed her life. Did she have any idea what that did to a child?  
  
The image of a loving mother simply did not reconcile with those transgressions. All the sickness and medicine in the world could not take those words away.  
  
Lithium, depacoat, halidol - even great quantities of the drugs could not heal the scars on Abby's soul. There was a power a mother carried that no one else could even begin to grasp, the ability to destroy, to take away a child's confidence and any happiness they might attempt to entertain.  
  
Maggie had been an expert at exercising that power. It was true that when she started swinging down she felt the need to take everyone else with her, but the irreversible affect of her constant diminishing words on Abby's fragile self-esteem was not easily undone.  
  
In truth, it had not ever been undone.  
  
"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you sure there's nothing I can help you find?" The sales girl interrupted her train of thought. Her look was hopeful; she probably just wanted to start a conversation.  
  
Glancing at her watch, Abby realized she had been there longer than she thought. "No, really, I'm fine," she hastily made her way down the aisle, escaping the threat of human contact, running her fingers along the different cosmetic items as she went.  
  
A particularly vivid bottle of nail polish caught her eye, and she plucked it from the display. "This-isn't-my-real-job," read the label on the bright crimson bottle.  
  
She had to laugh to herself at the bizarre title; the other colors by the same brand bore equally ostentatious monikers. Painting her nails was not something she did very often; perhaps she should try and be a bit more stylish. Such amenities, though, were things that she eventually associated with her mother.  
  
Over-done make-up, brightly colored lipstick and nails, flamboyant clothing: those were all traits Abby had tried desperately to avoid inculcating. Even if she ultimately looked plain, at least she was not her mother.  
  
Most of her adolescent life had been spent differentiating herself from Maggie; if her mother liked a certain kind of music, Abby would hate it. Nothing was sacred, even her choice of food revolved around mother's preferences. To this day, Abby vehemently denied liking asparagus, just because Maggie adored it.  
  
She strode to the counter with her selection, setting it before the still- smiling cashier.  
  
"Oooh, good choice, this is a pretty one," the girl murmured as she scanned the little bottle. "I haven't seen you in here before, are you new to the area?"  
  
"No," Abby replied, furrowing her brow. She was the third one tonight - at every turn, people seemed to be hinting that Abby was not where she belonged.  
  
"It's just that most of the people who come in this early are consistent, before work, you know," there was an apologetic tone to her voice now.  
  
"I just happened to be in the neighborhood, I guess," Abby relented with a small wink, handing the girl money for her purchase.  
  
Where did she belong? She knew, even if she did not want to admit it.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
There is this difference between sorrow and depression - sorrowful, you are in great trouble because something matters so much; depressed, you are miserable because nothing really matters.  
  
J.E. Buckrose 


	6. Fading

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to have fun with them  
  
Flipping a blonde curl over her shoulder, Megan checked the reflection in her compact one last time before making a beeline to the man at the bar.  
  
He was darkly handsome: attractive, well-built, and with that whisper of grey at the temples she found so irresistible.  
  
  
  
"Hey there," her voice was husky, but she managed to give it a coy hint.  
  
  
  
He glanced at her briefly, muttered something unintelligible, and went back to focusing on his beer bottle.  
  
  
  
But she was not to be put off so easily, especially after hearing that marvelous accent.  
  
  
  
"My name is Megan," she offered him a hand.  
  
  
  
"Luka," he replied, declining the offer of her hand.  
  
  
  
A cell phone rang then, cutting through the awkwardness in the air.  
  
  
  
"Ummm, I think that's you," she smiled, leaning in as though sharing a secret. Realization suddenly dawning on him, he fumbled urgently for the phone.  
  
  
  
"Hello?" His tone was hopeful, somehow.  
  
  
  
Megan's eyebrows rose curiously as she listened to his end of the conversation, and caught faint tones of the female voice on the other end.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Oh, hey."  
  
"No, I'm not disappointed..  
  
"I'm sorry, I completely forgot..  
  
"Well, if that's what you think..  
  
"I haven't offered because I don't know when I will be free.  
  
"Look, this just isn't the time.  
  
"Yeah, that would probably be best."  
  
  
  
He looked at Megan almost sheepishly as he hung up. She responded by rolling her eyes and walking away.  
  
  
  
Luka returned his attention to his bottle, barely noticing Megan's retreating form.  
  
  
  
He hated to drink fast. The carbonation would combine with the bitter flavor of any beer and burn as it made its way down his esophagus; he could still feel it in his stomach hours later. But that did not stop him from slamming down the rest of his beverage.  
  
  
  
Why couldn't the phone call have been from Abby?  
  
  
  
"I don't even want an explanation, just tell me where you are and I'll come get you. Just tell me where," he uttered to no one in particular; the statement earned him a fleeting glance from the bartender, but no more. "I just want you safe at home."  
  
  
  
Abruptly, he straightened on the barstool. He had not checked her apartment yet! Not that he really expected her to be there, but it was something more that he could do, something better than just sitting around and letting his mind fill with worry. Her landlord had called just the other day, perhaps there was a chance she had gone back there.  
  
  
  
Slapping some bills down on the counter, he made for the door, and into the brisk night.  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
Once he was there, Luka did not quite understand why he had come. He lurked in the hallway, pacing between Abby's door and Bryan's, staring at the key in his hand.  
  
  
  
To give the key back would have made the end of their relationship too tangible, so he just never did.  
  
  
  
This is foolish, he chastised himself. What are you going to accomplish by going in there? Nothing!  
  
  
  
An elderly woman pushed past his Warder's gait, looking at him strangely. She opened her mouth as thought to speak, and then seemed to think the better of it, moving on to her own green door.  
  
  
  
I will feel better, he rationalized - and it will let me be close to her again.  
  
  
  
Ultimately giving in to the temptation, Luka slowly turned the key in the lock, feeling every tumbler slide into place.  
  
  
  
Upon pushing open the door, the stale air hit him like a wall: it could have knocked him over with the force of its scent, full of Abby and slowly passing days.  
  
  
  
Everything was as she had left it, down to the open bottle of wine on the end table next to her couch. A drop of blood on her throw rug caught his eye, and Luka felt his heart miss a beat.  
  
  
  
Emotions rushed back to him anew, and all he knew was a blind desire to track Abby down, to fill the void in his heart. The desperate need overrode all logic, and before he knew it, Luka found himself glancing around for her address book.  
  
  
  
Maggie would know what the big emergency was, and where he could find Abby. Then again, Maggie might turn out to be the emergency, but either way he would find answers. And that was exactly what his tormented mind demanded.  
  
  
  
  
  
He ran his fingers along the bindings of the books on her shelf, until he at last found what appeared to be an address book. Pulling the medium-sized binder away from its neighbors, he stepped toward the phone.  
  
  
  
Upon opening the pale green volume, though, he froze. Just inside the front cover was an envelope with his name on it.  
  
  
  
Self-consciously, he glanced around. He could read it if it was meant for him. couldn't he? Despite being alone in the apartment, he felt a growing nervousness, as though he were about to get caught doing something wrong. He tore open the envelope anyway.  
  
  
  
It was a birthday card.  
  
  
  
His heart sank through the floor. His birthday had passed just a scant few days after they separated in September. She must have purchased the card further in advance. Swallowing hard, he opened it.  
  
  
  
Luka,  
  
I know I haven't always been the best at communicating with you, so I want you to understand just how much you mean to me. Your kindness and patience through the last year have been immeasurable. Happy birthday, and thank you.  
  
Love Always,  
  
  
  
Abby.  
  
  
  
He doubted anyone could have planned a more perfect trigger for the tremendous sense of guilt he already felt about their relationship. As he closed his eyes, he could almost sense her presence in the apartment: the soft scent of her shampoo, faint traces of her favorite coffee and laundry detergent.  
  
  
  
Quiet noises from the hallway and the next apartment grew louder in the darkness of his mind, until he had to open his eyes again.  
  
  
  
The thoughtful message in the card seemed almost out of character for her, the expression of feeling that lay within. But perhaps that was why she had chosen to express it in a written medium, rather than actually saying anything to him. Of course, after their break up they had communicated neither verbally nor in writing.  
  
He sat down on the couch, lost in thought, barely noticing the lightening sky.  
  
  
  
Footsteps in the hallway barely penetrated his reverie until the noticed them stop in front of her door. A key once again made its way into the lock, and the door open to reveal a disheveled Abby.  
  
  
  
"Luka?" Her eyes were confused. "What are you doing here?"  
  
  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
  
  
Today was just a day fading into another,  
  
And that can't be what a life is for.  
  
The Counting Crows, "Another Horsedreamer's Blues" 


	7. Almost Dawn

Almost Dawn  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ER characters, I just like to play with them!  
  
Author's Note: Ok, I know you're probably expecting some confrontation or resolution in this chapter, but you are going to have to wait a little more. I have to get Abby back to her own apartment first. ;)  
  
  
  
The apartment was very dark. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside and let her eyes adjust, remaining as quiet as possible. This was a mistake. She should not have come back here; she should have braved her own home.  
  
  
  
Now Abby would have to face Luka, and answer to questions which she did not know the answers. Sliding her bag silently from her shoulder, she sat down on the couch, waiting. The hallway and bedroom door loomed before her, appealing to some dark and terrible part of her mind in their black emptiness.  
  
  
  
Her stomach was so tight she could barely breathe. The short breaths she did produce seemed to cut through the darkness, far too loudly.  
  
  
  
Clearing her throat, she found the courage to call his name. "Luka?"  
  
  
  
"Luka?" She tried again, this time louder.  
  
  
  
After he neglected to answer her second call, she walked to the bedroom. His bed was still made, everything on his dresser looked undisturbed. Five in the morning, and he was still not home.  
  
  
  
Abby's mind had trouble wrapping around that fact. Where would he be besides his apartment? Suddenly struck with a deep sense of loneliness, she walked to the answering machine.  
  
  
  
The flashing "1" on the display was probably still the message he left for her in the afternoon. Pressing the play button, she waited, desperate to hear at least his voice on the machine again. That small, pleading message he left just more than twelve hours before. Instead, a female voice greeted her ears.  
  
  
  
"Hey, it's Michelle. I just wanted you to know I will be a little bit late, something came up at work and I need to finish up. Can't wait until tonight, though! See you then."  
  
  
  
Michelle.  
  
  
  
The Ice Capades.  
  
  
  
And Luka was not home.  
  
  
  
She was surprised, angry, hurt. Wasn't this always the way - just after she finally decided to confront rather than run from her emotions, she found out he had abandoned her.  
  
  
  
But she had no call to be jealous; it was not as though she and Luka were dating. They had just shared such a special moment, and had a history. Obviously he thought nothing of what had happened last night, if he had gone ahead with his date. But then why would he have left the message? Yet he must have gone ahead with his plans when she went missing. That showed very little concern. No, no - it was not fair for her to judge.  
  
  
  
Her tired gears were spinning, unable to reconcile the missing Luka and the message with the tenderness she had sensed from him before. He had seemed so happy, so content with what had passed between them, how could he just walk away? She had walked away, though. Perhaps he only did after he saw her reaction.  
  
  
  
Once again giving into the instincts that screamed for her to run from emotionally complicated situations, she gathered her bag and was out the door.  
  
  
  
Abby could not understand the incredible sense of loss she felt - a wave far worse than that which followed their initial break up. Of course, she had plenty of time to distance herself then. She sniffed, disgusted with the memory - she had worked hard at establishing the distance for months before all of their tension boiled to the surface.  
  
Would she ever put an end to her self-destructive course of relationships?  
  
  
  
Where was she supposed to be now? The thought of going back to her own apartment made her shudder. She recalled too vividly the first evening she had gone back there, after stubbornly refusing Dr. Lewis' invitation to stay more than just one night.  
  
  
  
She had been too terrified to do much of anything but jump straight into bed, and even then she lay, wide awake, too aware of every creak and moan of the building. Noises she could not identify drove her from her sheets, and forced her onto the couch, where she could more securely monitor her door, and what could be passing outside of it. Still, her eyes flew open at every muffled clatter and she spent a sleepless night.  
  
  
  
But what choice did she have now, except to go back there? She sneered. At least Luka had been respectful enough to spend his night at the "other woman's" place, rather than bringing her back to his apartment. Even that thought cut.  
  
  
  
Whatever perception she had subconsciously built in her mind of returning home to him had been destroyed, and she could not help but focus rather bitterly upon it.  
  
  
  
How she would ever face him again was now a mystery. She had bought herself some time with the family emergency bit, and she could wait until she knew he was working to pick up the stuff she still had at his apartment. But at work...  
  
  
  
Their interaction had been so fun, so easy, and so... perfect. Now it would have to suffer through another awkward and laborious stage, full of avoidance and fear.  
  
  
  
The tears on her cheeks felt as cold as ice as she wiped them hurriedly away. A stranger looked at her twice, noting her sad countenance.  
  
  
  
What did she care if they knew she was miserable, if they thought her pathetic for betraying such sentiment in public? But she did. Any sign of vulnerability given in front of others was one more admission she had to make about the shortcomings of her own character.  
  
  
  
At least the wonderful Chicago public transportation system made fleeing such weakness easy to do. Well, not fleeing from weakness so much as hiding from those who had seen it. Either way, it got the job done.  
  
  
  
Time passed far too quickly on the el, and the stop she was dreading arrived.  
  
  
  
Before she knew it, she was climbing the stairs toward her own door. Trepidation filled her every move, slowing her muscles to a bare crawl. There was nothing for her here. There was nothing for her anywhere.  
  
  
  
Defeated, she turned her key in the lock.  
  
  
  
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Oh, love is real enough; you will find it someday, but it has one archenemy - and that is life.  
  
  
  
Jean Anouilh Ardele 


	8. Blame it on Shakespeare

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long for those of you who read this, but I've been busy with school and rl stuff.  
  
She blinked first, unable to believe her eyes. Luka was here. Alone. Not with Michelle. Abby closed her eyes, hoping she had imagined it - he wasn't really there, he was not really looking miserable, worried, and relieved at her entrance. Luka did not care about her; he had not come looking for her; he was not there.  
  
Perhaps, like so many other times in her life, she could spin lies into truth - if she fought hard enough, perhaps her mind could make him leave. Opening her eyes hesitantly, she was disappointed: he had not moved an inch.  
  
Rarely had anything in her life changed her as much as the first time she read MacBeth. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day," she would often whisper to herself. MacBeth's short soliloquy epitomized her outlook. It was all about the feelings of futility; the abject suffering that transcended all life. When she read those lines as a sophomore in high school, she fixated on them. Tragedy was to be her companion on many a road since.  
  
As Abby took him in, standing in her living room, obviously emotional, she could not help but return yet again to that single fatalistic stanza - this was all suffering, and this was all for nothing.  
  
"Abby," the hope in his eyes as he whispered her name was torture.  
  
She was frozen. She could not speak; she could not tell him what she was thinking - she could not tell him anything at all.  
  
There was so much that needed to be said between them, but the timing always seemed a bit off. The time was never right, though. It seemed as though her whole life had passed waiting for the right time to talk about hard subjects and she never seemed to find it. Or the opportunity presented itself and she just ran away.  
  
He tried again, extending a hesitant arm toward her. She recoiled from the gesture as though stung, despite the fact that he was nearly the length of the room away from actually touching her. Despite the movement of her lips, there was no sound; she wanted to tell him to leave, to let her be alone and miserable. Instead, she was incapable of even a whisper.  
  
The pain in his eyes was her responsibility. Speak, she screamed at herself. Get over this self-perpetuating cycle and talk to him. At least tell him why. He deserves so much better than you.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she choked, suddenly realizing she was visibly trembling. "It's just too hard. it shouldn't have to be this hard."  
  
Before she could fight him, he crossed the room and swept her up into an embrace. "The harder it is, the more it means," he managed in a voice heavy with accent. Confusion set in, though - he was not sure if she was apologizing for not being able to talk to him now, in her apartment; for running away earlier; or for some yet unidentified transgression. "Please, Abby.. Do not run from me."  
  
"I just can't keep doing this..," she managed, still trying to push him away.  
  
Luka pushed her back until he could look her full in the eyes. "I'm done with this," his stoney eyes added to the gravity of his voice. "I know what I want from you; and I thought you were ready to face what is between us. I can't keep living this unreality with you, Abby. I need you to forgive me for the mistakes that I have made and choose either to let it go and open yourself up to us - to this - again, or tell me if you will not so that I can get on with my life, whatever that means." He blinked in surprise - he had not really intended to say that much.  
  
Perhaps that excited utterance, though, would finally put him at peace.  
  
How could she just forget about something she lived in constant fear of? And how could she reconcile all of the bad blood that had passed between them? Every time he glanced at another woman, his criticism rang deafeningly. Not that pretty. Not that special.  
  
It was petty, she knew; but she did not know how to let things go - she never had. With her mother, allowing herself to let go opened the floodgates of hurt for the next inevitable fall. What could she do? Emotional resolution was definetly not her specialty; perhaps if she was better at it she would not be branded "alcoholic." Maybe she would not have to pour her heart out to the occasional shrink (although those visits had become nonexistent since her divorce was finalized).  
  
"Don't do this again," he whispered into her neck, his fingers desperate as they tangled themselves in her hair. "Please," the shaking voice almost made the frozen, blank stare on her face waver.  
  
The expression, however, was maintained as she mechanically patted his back. Her mind swam with thoughts, but they all seemed so far away. The world was filled with soft curves rather than edges, and nothing was close by. It must have appeared almost comical, a man so big as Luka almost being cradled by her.  
  
With effort, again, she felt her mind pull away from the reality of what Luka must be feeling. Why did she try so hard to maintain this distance? It served no one, it only managed to make he and everyone else more miserable. And here was Luka - who she had longed over, pined over - practically groveling before her and she could not even bring herself to respond?  
  
Abby felt moisture suddenly against her neck, and realized he must have been crying. Drawing back from his embrace only with great difficulty, she pulled up his chin to look into his eyes. Abruptly, she found the strength gone from her body; the sadness in his gaze drained her.  
  
"Why do you want to be here? Why did you come? I've never done anything but hurt you and push you away," the small utterance was as timid as a child's.  
  
"You cannot keep thinking like that. Those thought are what push me away - can't you see?"  
  
"Why did you come," she repeated, hoarse.  
  
A long silence followed, so thick it seemed to coat the room like a heavy fog. "Because.. Because here, with you, is the only time I feel."  
  
Her eyes burned. "Feel."  
  
"Feel anything," his tears were heavy. They weighed down her entire arm as they ran down his cheek and plopped upon the hand she used to push him back. "That's how I know this is where I need to be."  
  
Five tiny fingers shook as they pressed against his chest. Taking the motion as a cue, Luka closed his hand over hers. Heavy lids shaded her eyes slowly; the darkness became a world of warmth as she focused on the feel of her hand enveloped in his. "This is so frighteningly real," she breathed after a long silence. "I never let anything become this real."  
  
Through the change in the air, she knew he was nodding in reply. The squeeze she felt from him was silent encouragement for her to continue. Did his patience with her have any end?  
  
Blue blinds over her windows were beginning to visibly lighten. "Just. just please don't leave," the words barely managed to escape her. His grip on her hand tightened; he knew what an effort that small statement had been for Abby.  
  
Tentatively, he pulled her back against him again, and they sank in union. They were an even darker splash on the sea of the hard wood floor, clinging only to one another to keep from being lost. 


	9. At Last, A Conversation

"Abby.."  
  
She shifted in his arms, and checked her watch. She did not realize they had been clinging in silence for so long. Gazing up at him, she was still speechless. "I know. we should talk."  
  
His nod was gentle. "I want things to be different this time; we need to communicate starting right now. I need to know what you really want, and I want you to promise you'll never run away from me again."  
  
Her chin quivered. She did not know if she could do this now. Stop it! Face him, and get this over with. He needs to know. so then he can move on. That's what he said he wanted anyway.  
  
"What I want," she murmured. "You know. what I have wanted never turns out to be the right thing for anybody," those pained eyes froze him.  
  
"How can you know that? You've never done what you want to do. You've always been inhibited by something, and you made your decisions for everyone but yourself."  
  
"No!" her previously timid voice abruptly became harsh and cutting. "That is not true! I make selfish, horrible decisions all the time because of what I want! Maybe you're right, and that is what ruined us, but it was me that ruined my marriage, and only me."  
  
"What are you talking about, Abby? I met Richard. And what happened with him has nothing to do with us."  
  
"But it does. I've kept it from you, because you will hate me. The decision that I made for me. thinking of no one else.. That's what ruined it. And it's made everything else based on a lie, even us. How can we ever have a relationship based on that?"  
  
"What lie? Tell me, Abby.. There is nothing you could do that I could not forgive."  
  
A bitter laugh escaped her terse lips. "You don't know that." How could he stand her after he knew what she had done? She had given up what he had lost.  
  
"I do. You are the most important thing to me now," he reached out and touched her hair. "Nothing will jeopardize that.. I won't let anything jeopardize that. Please, at least try," he pleaded.  
  
Her face contorted in agony as her mind swam; angry thoughts, loathsome thoughts, piteous ones - all crashed into one another. "I had an abortion," she spat it at him, incensed both at his persistence and her shame. She wanted him to judge her. She wanted him to look at her with disgust. She wanted him to stand up, and leave her in contempt. Seconds ticked by, and defiance faded from her face, leaving only vulnerability. Her eyes begged him to show hate.  
  
But he did not give in.  
  
"Say something," she begged.  
  
"What?" The question was unnecessary. Though he knew it changed nothing of how he felt, he was still grasping for words and merely trying to stall.  
  
"You heard me," her tone was dangerous.  
  
"Tell me what happened," he finally offered, after a prolonged and difficult silence.  
  
Her eyelids fluttered quickly, struggling against the heavy load of tears lurking behind them. "I just could not go through with it. My mother had just come down from one of her episodes, things were going so badly with Richard because of that. I couldn't bear the thought of it - if, if the baby was sick, too," her words became more choked as they progressed, and were barely audible at the end. "How. How can you love someone who would do that?"  
  
"You need to forgive yourself. What I really think doesn't matter," he pulled her close again. It was easy; the strength was gone from her body. A great exhaustion fell over her with their exchange. "Real feelings do not change. You made a hard decision, and I do not love you any less for it." His grip tightened around her as she trembled; mild tremors intensified, and soon sobs racked her body.  
  
"I - I - was so afraid -" she could not finish the thought.  
  
"Don't be. Now it's going to be ok." 


End file.
